Scones and bones, p.17
Scones & Bones, page 17
"Maybe so. But, again, which island fortress?" asked Drayton. 'Just in the Charleston vicinity alone we've got Castle Pinckney, old Fort Moultrie, and Fort Sumter. Plus there are heaven knows how many old fortresses that have been leveled by hurricanes or just vanished over the past two hundred years ... like Fort Johnson or the infamous Battery Wagner on Morris Island.”
"Lost through time," murmured Theodosia. She opened her handbag and pulled out a piece of paper.
"Now what?" asked Drayton, as she handed him the flashlight.
"I'm going to take a rubbing of this number and date." She searched around inside her shoulder bag. "Got a pencil, by any chance?"
Drayton gave a cursory pat to his pockets. "No. Sorry."
"Never mind," Theodosia said, digging into her small makeup bag. "I've got an eyebrow pencil." She snapped off the top. "Sienna Brown." Positioning the paper over the number, Theodosia flattened it carefully and began to rub. "Hold that light steady." She moved the pencil in long, gentle strokes, gradually capturing the image.
"Looks good," said Drayton, studying her almost-finished work. "But why? What do you want it for?"
'Just to ... I don't know ... analyze it," said Theodosia. "Or in case we think of something later. Okay, almost done." The fog had turned damp and cold, wrapping around them like a wet rag.
A few ticks of silence drifted by, and then Drayton said, "I saw you talking with both those fellows tonight." Theodosia blew a stray tendril of auburn hair off her forehead. "You mean Parker and Max?"
"That's right," said Drayton. He let loose a low chuckle. "Two fellows. So the plot thickens."
Theodosia peeled back the paper. "Or the fog does. Whichever comes first."
20
Azaleas, camellias, and daffodils lent a riot of color to the backyard garden at the elegant Redcliffe House. A large three-tiered fountain pattered merrily into a small pond where tiny, golden fish darted into dark, murky depths. Yellow-and-black swallowtail butterflies flitted from flower to flower, sipping tasty nectar. And a dozen or so tea tour guests sat at white wrought-iron tables on a large flagstone patio sipping Ceylonese black tea and eating jumbo, cat-head-sized maraschino cherry scones drizzled with a powdered sugar glaze.
Theodosia and Drayton were back at it again, kicking off their ten o'clock tea tour with a quick morning repast. And, luckily for them, they were also enjoying abundant sunshine, flora and fauna, and genial company this Friday morning. A far cry from last night's gloomy romp in the cemetery.
"Ladies," said Drayton, "might I specifically direct your gaze to the multiple beds of pink camellias, which are enclosed by low boxwood hedges." He stood, ramrod stiff, like a ballet instructor, in front of the group, all eyes upon him. "This is a fine illustration of a classic, formal English garden."
A tentative hand was raised at one of the tables. "But this isn't an English-style home?"
"This lovely home, Redcliffe House," said Drayton, "through which we shall stroll in a matter of mere minutes, was fashioned in the Italianate style." Drayton cast an eye toward Theodosia, then continued. "As some of you who live in this area may know, this magnificent home was constructed back in 1820 by Daniel Redcliffe, the wealthy owner of a large rice plantation."
After pouring her last refill, Theodosia hurried to join Drayton at the tail end of his lecture. "As a footnote," she said, "the orangerie you see extending out into the garden was added in 1912 and is a miniature model of the orangerie at the Palace of Versailles."
"And now that you've all been properly fortified," said Drayton, extending both arms and gently motioning for everyone to rise, "we shall begin our tour."
A woman in a robin's-egg-blue suit with matching hat raised her hand and asked, "What are we going to see again?" Drayton gave a perfunctory smile. "After we explore the first floor of the Redcliffe House, we'll take a quick tour of the nearby Verner House. From there we shall meander over to the Charleston Library Association for a visit, then wander down historic Gateway Walk. At which point we shall jog-and I use that term loosely, dear ladies-down Church Street, where we'll end up at the Indigo Tea Shop for a tasty luncheon."
Theodosia waited until all the women filed into the back door of the Redcliffe House, then drew up the rear of the column. Inside, they wandered through two elegant parlors and a library, while Drayton pointed out particular items of interest. a set of French vernis Martin chairs, a Hepplewhite sideboard, and a gilded Chippendale mirror. He also called attention to a fine hand-painted mural of a Tuscan villa and a dark, moody oil painting done by the well-known American portrait painter Edward Savage.
Then they were outside again, this time Theodosia and Drayton leading the women down a walkway under verdant canopies of live oaks. Horse-drawn jitneys with dancing fringe jingle-jangled in the street as they strolled past elegant, immense homes that hunkered together, shoulder to shoulder, like grand old dowagers.
In no time at all, they were climbing the wide, stone steps of the Verner House.
The current owner, a woman by the name of Lenora Perry, met them at the front door and led their group on a short tour. Here was a valuable bombé Louis XV commode, classic stucco fireplace, and silver candlesticks à la Paul Revere, as well as a magnificent free-flying staircase above which hung a spectacular crystal chandelier.
Back outside again, they cut over to the Charleston Library Association. There the group tiptoed into the dark depths of the old building and paid a short visit to the manuscript room. A docent wearing white cotton gloves allowed them to view framed letters handwritten by George Washington and Francis Marion, the heroic Swamp Fox.
Then their merry group was underway again and wandering down Gateway Walk, through the Governor Aiken Gates, and passing directly by the Gibbes Museum of Art.
Theodosia had a wild, giggly moment when she wondered if Max might be sitting inside at his desk, composing a press release. Or maybe he was in a meeting, jotting notes about an upcoming show. The notion tickled her fancy and she was suddenly gripped with a mad urge to dash away from the tour group and pop in to surprise him.
Then reality set in and she began to wonder if the two of them would ever really connect. And, if that might be in the cards, what exactly was she going to do about Parker Scully?
Maybe (and now her anxieties were kicking in big-time) any real, meaningful relationship with Max was doomed. Because of Parker. Because of Delaine. Maybe they were both destined to be in exceedingly pleasant boyfriend-girlfriend relationships with people they really, really liked, but weren't rapturously in love with.
Whoa. Wait a minute, dearie. Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves? Oh, yes, I think so. Because seriously, how do I really feel about Max? Do I love him? No, no, no. It's way too early for that kind of declaration, isn't it? Isn't it? Hmm, I definitely need to give this more time to percolate.
"Theodosia? Theodosia?"
Shaking her head to clear it, Theodosia was suddenly aware that Drayton was calling her name. "Yes?" she called pleasantly, raising a hand.
"If you don't mind," said Drayton, "would you like to enlighten everyone about this lovely statue of Persephone?" "Of course," said Theodosia, as they all clustered around the white marble statue that graced the back patio of the Gibbes Museum. "Our dear Persephone, as you probably know, is a goddess in Greek mythology. In fact, she was deemed so beautiful that she was kidnapped by Hades and spirited down to the underworld, where the weather was almost as warm and humid as our own Charleston summers." That remark garnered a good amount of laughter, and then Theodosia continued. "Persephone eventually won her release, but she was still compelled to return to the underworld for one-third of the year." She paused. "Much like our own heat that runs June through September." More laughter ensued as they crossed Meeting Street and walked around the Circular Congregational Church with its spectacular Romanesque style of architecture.
From here on, Gateway Walk evolved into a lovely mix of gardens, ghosts, and gravestones. Eerie slate markers from the sixteen hundreds, many with skull-and-bones motifs, mingled with tablets that sported some very Miami Ink-looking skulls with angel's wings.
As they walked along, Drayton doled out tidbits of information about the sundial, the concrete tree trunk twisted with ivy, the obelisk, and the many stone markers and plaques that detailed special stories and legends.
And as they wandered deeper into this hidden core of garden and graves, Theodosia couldn't help but wonder about the many stones, monuments, markers, tablets, and plaques.
And cipher stones?
What was a cipher stone, after all? she wondered. A brick? A round cobble rock like the ones that still paved historic Gillon Street?
Or could a cipher stone be any type of stone that had a cipher engraved on it?
As Theodosia passed a large tomb carved with Old English script, she glanced at it with speculation. Moss had grown up one side of the tomb almost covering an inscription that read, TWOUD GRIEVE YOU TENDER READER TO RELATE, THE HASTY STRIDES OF UNRELENTING FATE. Prophetic lines, she decided. And a little frightening, too.
"And now," said Drayton, as he threw open the front door of their cozy little tea shop, "we bid you welcome to the Indigo Tea Shop."
There were oohs and ahhs as the ladies stepped inside. And when Theodosia finally entered, even she was charmed. Because Haley and Miss Dimple had outdone themselves once again. The three tables set aside for their tour group sparkled with dishes from the Shelley yellow and green Primrose pattern. Crisp white linen napkins were folded in tricky fleur-de-lis arrangements. And yellow silk fabric was tied to the backs of all the chairs and embellished with large poufy bows.
As Drayton seated their guests at the elegantly set tables, Theodosia snapped into hostess mode.
"We'll be serving a luncheon tea today," she told them. "So we'll begin with couscous salad and zucchini bread, then move on to a chilled cucumber soup. Our entrées include bacon and red pepper quiche as well as homemade crumpets spread with chicken salad and cranberry jam, then topped with cheddar cheese and popped under the broiler."
"And tea," said Drayton, as if she'd-forget about that. "Drayton will be brewing several different teas," said Theodosia, "so you can indulge your taste buds and sample several different varieties. In fact, last I heard, he'd selected Darjeeling, a Chinese oolong, and a vanilla chai."
Then Theodosia was off in a whirl, greeting her other guests, seeing to the tea tour ladies, and helping Miss Dimple ferry out the various courses while Drayton focused strictly on brewing tea.
By the time entrées were finished, Drayton was extolling the merits of so many varieties of tea they had to pull the little teacups out again for sampling all around.
"Don't forget about dessert," Theodosia cautioned her guests. "We have bread pudding with brandy sauce, our own creamy dreamy parfait, and lemon chess pie."
"Excuse me," said one of the ladies. "I keep hearing about lemon chess pie, but what exactly is it?"
"According to Haley, our resident baker," said Theodosia, "it's an original farm pie. One that's basically made with whatever's on hand."
"Nothing fancy or expensive," said Drayton, "just put together with love."
Just as Theodosia was busily jotting down orders for takeout scones, Max strolled in. He looked around with a faint smile, and his nose raised ever so slightly.
Sniffing tea aromas? Theodosia wondered.
She hustled over to meet Max with a friendly but inquisitive, "What on earth are you doing here?" She was surprised and pleased that Max had popped in unexpectedly. Or maybe he was ... psychic? Maybe he'd felt a twinkle when she walked past the Gibbes Museum earlier this morning?
"I came to grab a scone," Max told her. "I understand they're moist, not crumbly, and probably the best in town." "Who told you that?" she asked. Delaine?
Max smiled lazily. "People." He paused. "Any luck last night?"
Theodosia momentarily froze. "How did you know about last night?" He hadn't followed her, had he?
"Took a not-so-wild guess," said Max. "I'm beginning to get a fairly good idea of how your mind operates."
"No," said Theodosia, "you really don't know me at all." She didn't mean it in a snarky or nasty way, she just ... meant it.
"But I'm getting to know you," said Max. "And enjoying every single moment."
Okay, Theodosia decided, I can easily go along with that.
"So," said Max, "did you discover anything?"
"No," said Theodosia. "Not a thing."
"Apologies then," said Max, "for sending you on such a wild-goose chase."
"Don't worry about it," said Theodosia. "Because you really didn't send me. I made the decision all by myself."
"I don't know what she's saying," said Haley, handing the phone to Theodosia. "She's in hysterics."
"Now what?" Theodosia asked. Max, along with most of their luncheon guests, had departed and she was packing up a final scone order in one of their indigo-blue takeout boxes. "Who's in hysterics, Haley?"
Haley wrinkled her nose and shook back her fine curtain of hair. "I think it's Delaine. Then again, it could be a scalded cat who dialed our number by mistake."
"Delaine?" said Theodosia, into the phone. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
"Theo!" Delaine let out a loud, distressed wail that sounded like a banshee's shriek. "Nadine hasn't shown up to help with the Silk and Syrah show! In fact, I still haven't been able to reach her!"
"I'm sure she's fine," said Theodosia. "Like I said last night, she's probably all cozy and hanging out with Bill Glass." Although I can't imagine why, Gag.
"I know, I know," chattered Delaine, "but it's still so contrary to her nature. My sister was looking forward to Silk and Syrah almost as much as I am. Or I should say was!"
"I'm sure Nadine will turn up," Theodosia offered, in her most solicitous tone.
"Maybe," Delaine whimpered, "but if she doesn't there's no way I can pull this off by myself!"
"Surely Janine can help," said Theodosia. Janine was Delaine's overworked, underpaid assistant. The poor woman always looked perpetually stressed and in dire need of a Xanax. Then again, who wouldn't be stressed, working for Delaine?
"Oh, no," Delaine scolded. "I need someone with far more finesse than Janine."
No, no, no. Delaine's not angling to ask me to help, is she? She wouldn't dare impose on me, would she?
Oh, yes, she would.
"Theodosia!" Delaine cried in a pleading, helpless bleat. "Can you please come over and lend a hand?"
"You're not serious!"
"I've got at least fifty women who have RSVPed to this event!" Delaine shrilled. "With dozens of possible walk-ins!"
"I'm awfully busy. . ." Theodosia said, stalling. It was typical of Delaine to try to impose, and Theodosia was fighting her natural urge to jump in and help.
"And the hideous thing is," said Delaine, sniffling like crazy now, "is that I went way out on a limb. Spent tons of money and invited two upscale designers with their finest silk collections. I even hired models, a hot new DJ, and a bartender. And now Silk and Syrah is going to be a disaster! It's all going to come crashing down around me and I'll be a complete laughingstock!"
Her heart softening, Theodosia dropped the phone to her chest and glanced about the tea shop. They weren't exactly crazy busy. So Drayton and Haley could probably manage. And didn't she feel a tiny bit guilty about stealing (or at least cajoling?) Max away from Delaine? Even though he wasn't quite away from her yet?
Of course, she did. Sort of.
"I'll come over and help," Theodosia told Delaine. After this morning's successful tea tour, she was feeling magnanimous.
"Oh, Theo!" Delaine squealed, "you're a peach and an absolute lifesaver! I'll never forget this kindness! And I'll make it up to you somehow! I'll do anything, just name it!"
His name is Max. Ha-ha.
"See you in half an hour, Delaine," said Theodosia, hanging up the phone.
"What crisis is spinning her little world off its axis now?" asked Drayton. He was balancing a tin of Fujian black tea in one hand and a tin of Golden Monkey in another. Undoubtedly weighing the merits of each tea before he actually committed to brewing a pot.
"Delaine's having a hissy fit over her Silk and Syrah event," Theodosia told him, rolling her eyes, pretending it was all a big joke.
"When isn't she having a hissy fit?" asked Drayton.
"I can see why she's a little crazed," Theodosia explained. "Her sister didn't bother showing up to help, and Delaine has a herd of silk-loving women about to beat a path to her door."
"I take it this is another one of Delaine's trunk shows?" asked Drayton. "Which, in reality, is simply a clever ploy to write orders on merchandise she hasn't laid out money for."
Theodosia chuckled. "Drayton, I love that you never let people's ulterior motives sway you from your own quirky spin on things."
"Such as it is," said Drayton.
"So you don't mind if I take off and give Delaine a hand?"
"Go," said Drayton, finally selecting the Fujian. "Scuttle on out of here. I have Miss Dimple to help, and she and I can easily handle the tea room for the rest of this afternoon."
21
"You're a love, love, love!" Delaine chirped as Theodosia strolled through the front door of Cotton Duck.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Theodosia. She glanced around and saw that the myriad racks of filmy dresses, cotton slacks, and T-shirts had been pushed aside to yield floor space for the two visiting designers. A pair of white Parsons tables stood like altars, holding look books and promotional materials while racks filled with colorful silk clothing stood nearby.
Delaine's shop, on a normal day, featured elegant, airy cotton clothing perfectly suited to Charleston's climate of heat and humidity. She also stocked filmy tops, long evening gowns, scarves the weight of butterfly wings, strands of pearls, swishy skirts, and even a few racks of vintage clothes. Delaine's latest boutique addition included several high-end lingerie lines, including La Perla, Cosabella, and the brand Guia La Bruna from Italy.
